


A Study in Blood Magic

by MangoMartini



Series: Incaensor [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Blood Magic, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, No Aftercare, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Sex Magic, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8044483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoMartini/pseuds/MangoMartini
Summary: “You always say that blood magic is a crutch for a weaker mage.” Dorian gives a sharp laugh through his nose. “I always assumed that meant it would be easy.” Or: A young Dorian attempts to learn about blood magic. His teacher and patron, Alexius, is more than willing to help him out.





	A Study in Blood Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for a while and not sure if I wanted to post it alone, or even if I wanted to post it at all. Also, this fic is set in the same universe and after the previous fic in this series, but this one can stand alone as well. Because of that, Dorian would be somewhere in his early twenties in this fic.

Dorian has been studying blood magic.

Or at least, Dorian has been  _ trying  _ to study blood magic. He’s been at his desk for hours trying to even  _ understand _ it. At this point, he’s about ready to incinerate the book and let whoever has been prying into the dreams of other Altus just see his dreams and secrets. Dealing with the fallout would be easier than dealing with learning this new skill.

“I almost didn’t believe that slave girl, when she told me you were still down here.”

Alexius’ voice reverberates off the stone walls of the subterranean laboratory, and Dorian slams the book shut. He had been hoping to master blood magic, at least in theory, before Alexius woke up in the morning. He had seen the scene in his mind, how Alexius would just shower praise on Dorian, about how much safer Dorian would be now that he knew this.

“You always say that blood magic is a crutch for a weaker mage.” Dorian gives a sharp laugh through his nose. “I always assumed that meant it would be easy.” He closes the book and gently placed it on the shelf above his desk--as much as its contents frustrated him, he would never mistreat a book.

It’s Alexius’ turn to laugh, then. He walks over to Dorian and places a heavy hand on the younger mage’s shoulder. “Even you, Dorian, cannot learn a whole new discipline in one night. As I am sure you have found out, blood magic is nothing like necromancy.”

Dorian sighs, but feels himself relax under the familiar touch. Turning his head to look behind him, he notes that Alexius is no longer in his robes, but has dressed down to nothing but a tunic and his smallclothes.  _ Is it really that late, _ Dorian wonders, assuming that it must be if Alexius is walking about like that. “Did you come all the way down here to give me study tips, then?” Dorian asks.

But the deliberately obtuse act only lasts for a moment, long enough for Alexius to give a soft hum in a questioning tone, and to apply more pressure to Dorian’s shoulder. It makes Dorian chuckle. “Or,” he asks, dropping his voice low even though they are the only people here, most likely some of the only people even awake in the entire estate, “did you come down here to fetch me to warm your bed?”

The words are out of Dorian’s mouth before he can think about them, and for a moment he tenses. In all they have done, they have hardly ever  _ talked  _ about it, not as boldly as Dorian has just done, and even under the cover of night, in the shared laboratory space, it still feels like too intimate a question to ask.

Or at least it does, until Alexius leans forward, pressing his chest against Dorian’s back, presumably so that he can look over at Dorian’s notes. “There’s your problem,” Alexius says, not pointing at anything specifically. “Your fundamental equations are off.” His tone is that of the teacher, the one Dorian has heard thousands of times giving lectures, instructing apprentice mages. But the touch on his shoulder has gone from a hold to something akin to a massage, with Alexius’ fingers pushing into Dorian’s skin, sending a frisson of sparks down his chest that. “Blood magic doesn’t draw on the Fade, remember? And so beginning with that function is only setting yourself up for failure.”

“Ah,” Dorian replies, hating how much his voice shakes from that simple touch. “You’re quite right, as usual.”

Alexius steps back, and Dorian panics that the hand will leave him, too. It does, but only to slide up to the back of his neck, where Alexius begins to scrape his blunt nails against the nape of Dorian’s neck. “Blood magic is a tool for weaker mages because it allows them to use the life force of others, not the Fade, to power their magic. To rely on blood magic is to admit weakness, Dorian,” Alexius adds, his hand moving to encircle Dorian’s neck, as if he means to choke him from behind.

Dorian, for his part, has gone limp under Alexius’ minor ministrations. He’s already hard, can see the bulge under his robes, but doesn’t move, doesn’t squirm, just wills his mouth to ask, “But what about, to protect myself?” It’s not a full question, but Dorian is impressed that he got that much out. The world seems to have slowed, to have magnified in and centered on this moment, on the way Alexius is touching him, and Dorian wants nothing more than for this to be the constant state of the universe.

“Such a smart, brave boy,” Alexius praises, tightening his grip just slightly. “I think what you need is a practical demonstration,” he goes on to say, stepping back and removing his hand, severing all contact from Dorian so suddenly that Dorian has to fight the urge to whimper.

The lack of contact does, though, allow Dorian a moment to really think about what Alexius is offering. “Don’t you need,” Dorian asks, trying to sound like he isn’t as turned on as he is, like he still doesn’t have the scent of Alexius--sandalwood and bergamot with sweat and leather--intoxicating his mind more than any wine ever could--in his lungs, “to kill, to use blood magic?"

  
Dorian turns around in his chair in time to see Alexius rummaging through the contents of his own desk, kept in a haphazard order that only Alexius, Dorian assumes, understands. “That is one way of doing it, yes,” Alexius agrees softly. He picks up a silver dagger, checks the edge of it in the candle light, and then wipes it with the hem of his tunic. “There is a lot of power stored in the human body, more so than most mages wish to acknowledge. Tapping into that power completely offers an immense boost in magical potential, for those who need it.”

Dorian’s only half-listening--mostly he’s focused on the way Alexius holds the dagger, on how even Alexius’ voice is. “And for those who don’t?” Dorian asks, mouth dry and tongue fumbling over the words.

“I believe a practical demonstration is in order,” Alexius repeats, and Dorian nods in reply before he thinks about what that means. “You would like that,” Alexius says, and even though some part of Dorian’s mind knows that should be a question, Alexius states it like a fact, as irrefutable as the laws of magic themselves. “One day, I will show you just how far blood magic can go, what it can do, so that you may know for your studies,” is the hasty addendum. “But for now, I will show you what I can.”

The next moments are all a blur, as Dorian  hurries to follow Alexius’ orders. He fetches the thick drop cloth, the one they use for particularly messy spells, and lays it out over the stone floor in the corner of the laboratory that’s for practical experimentations. There are already numerous stains on the canvas, many of which Dorian does not know the origin of, but he can guess. Then Alexius requests a bowl and Dorian retrieves that as well, but he doesn’t balk until Alexius requests rope.

“Rope?” Dorian repeats, licking his lips and trying to ascertain how exactly he feels about that.

Alexius, who has been watching the preparations from his desk chair, dagger still in his hand, just raises an eyebrow at his young protege. “Do you not trust me?” Alexius asks lazily, as if he could not fathom a situation where Dorian would not trust him.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian blurts out. “Of course I do. You  _ know  _ I do.” And Dorian does, intrinsically, holistically, trust his patron. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, as he goes to fetch the coil of rope, coarse and thick in his hands. “What else do you need me to do?”

Other spells they have tried needed days, if not weeks of preparation. The experiments with time, for example, needed tools and ingredients from across Thedas, as well as intense calculations and, on occasion, the creation of entirely new formulas. They had never done something so quick, so impulsive. Alexius, for his part, looked entirely unmoved by the proceedings, sitting in his chair and contemplating Dorian as if he were setting up for a routine necromancy spell.

“Remove your robes, but leave your smalls on,” Alexius instructs, as if he just told Dorian to slice Spindleweed. “And then kneel in the middle of the cloth.”

The laboratory is strangely silent as Dorian undresses. He’s not shy about his body, knows how handsome he is, but usually around Alexius his clothes come off in a pragmatic, if not haphazard, way. It’s never like this. Dorian can feel the entirety of Alexius’ attention on him, on his skin, searing him like a brand as he shuffles out of his robes and all their clasps as gracefully as he can, until he’s in nothing but his black smalls. His skin pricks from the coolness of the laboratory air, barely comfortable even on a warm summer night like this, but the thought of Alexius touching him soon keeps Dorian from complaining about the cold or the hard floor as he goes to kneel on the cloth.

“Gorgeous,” Alexius states, and Dorian can’t help but roll his shoulders back and preen at the praise. Even after being his student for almost a year, Dorian has not, cannot, get used to the man’s attention, his praise, the fact that a powerful magister such as Alexius would even want to be Dorian’s  _ patron _ , much less to use him for anything else. And yet, here they are.

Alexius moves over to Dorian, picking up the rope before kneeling behind him. Dorian moves his hands behind his back, crossing them at his wrists, and Alexius rewards him with a hand skating down the bare skin of his back before beginning to bind his wrists with the rope. “So responsive,” Alexius says, voice low like faraway thunder as he runs a hand over Dorian’s chest, dragging his fingers just above the waistband of Dorian’s smalls. “I can’t wait to see how you bleed.”

For a moment Dorian forgets about the knife, or the blood magic, or the lesson, as Alexius’ hand travels farther south, touching him through his smalls. Dorian leans back on his heels, tips his head back against Alexius’ shoulder, and doesn’t try to stop the way his hips buck wantonly up into his patron’s hand.

In response, Alexius rubs Dorian’s smalls against the tip of his cock, smearing precome against the fabric to create a vividly wet spot. “And so  _ needy _ ,” Alexius murmurs into Dorian’s ear. “You’d think I didn’t have you screaming my name in bed only day ago.”

The memory of it, of how Alexius had cornered Dorian after that soiree at Magister Bellicus’ manor, makes Dorian whine through his nose. Magister Bellicus had not been the problem, but his Nevarran cousin had been--the man spent half the night touching Dorian and the other half making eyes at him, until Alexius had all but dragged Dorian home to  _ remind him _ , as Alexius said, of to whom Dorian belongs.

“Maybe I should tie you up more often. Is that it?” Alexius asks, moving his hand down to massage the inside of Dorian’s thigh, so far away from where Dorian really wants that pressure. “Keep you all tied up on my bed for whenever I have need of you.” The press of a palm turns into the scrape of nails, and Dorian yelps. “Then at least no one else could touch you. At least I know I am the only one who can use you like this,” Alexius adds, taking his hand away.

The bright flash of pain that follows his words catches Dorian off guard and he screams, more from the shock of it than anything else. The actual cut is not that deep, but it’s long, and Dorian can feel the blood swell and begin to drip down his back. Then, on the opposite shoulder, Alexius makes a similar mark, longer this time.

“Tell me,” Dorian asks, voice more of a strained whimper than anything substantial, “what you’re doing?”

He can feel Alexius press his thumb into the cut on Dorian’s left shoulder, smearing the blood and splitting the skin. “Are you planning on taking notes, Dorian?” Alexius asks, accenting Dorian’s name with another cut, this one at the center of Dorian’s shoulder blades down to the middle of his back.  

Two more cuts follow, and Dorian cries out at each of them. He strains against the rope bindings, but Alexius holds him down. His back feels drenched with blood and sweat, and Alexius has gone silent. Dorian squeezes his eyes shut, can’t see anything important anyway, caught between wanting to move forward and escape and lean back into whatever touches he can get from Alexius, whether from the man’s hand or his dagger.

“The power in your blood,” Alexius says, voice breathy, as he scrapes the edge of the dagger against Dorian’s skin, gathering up blood, Dorian’s figures out from what he can hear, to drip into the bowl. “Properly harnessed, the power in your blood could take down all of Minrathous. Can you feel it?” he asks, gathering up more blood letting it slide off the dagger into the small bowl.

Alexius does one more pass against Dorian’s broken skin before Dorian hears the dagger clatter to the floor. Alexius is back on him in an instant, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s chest and leaning down to lave his tongue against the first mark he made, licking at the cut, the blood, in a way that makes Dorian keen against him. It hurts but it’s a  _ good  _ hurt, and Dorian can’t help but moan from it.

“You still,  _ ah _ , haven’t done any blood magic,” Dorian reminds his patron. He pauses for a moment, breath stuttering as Alexius kisses and bites up Dorian’s neck. Dorian imagines those kisses leaving bloody marks in the shape of Alexius’ lips and groans through his teeth, gasping before stuttering out, “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were stalling.”

Alexius, in response, bites down on Dorian’s shoulder and  _ growls _ . “I’m enjoying myself, have patience.” He licks across Dorian’s shoulders, hand against the taut muscles of Dorian’s stomach, holding Dorian down where he wants him so that all Dorian can do is pant and take it as he tries to ignore the way the stone floor digs into his knees even with the cloth under them. Alexius doesn’t relent until Dorian is moaning nothing but his name and the word  _ please _ , and only then does Alexius grab Dorian by his chin, turn his face around, and kiss him.

Dorian can taste blood,  _ his own blood _ , in Alexius’ mouth, and he licks at Alexius’ teeth to taste more of it. “ _ Please _ ,” he begs, breaking away to catch his breath. “Please, Alexius, I need--”

But Alexius cuts him off. “What you need is a better understanding of blood magic.” The older man’s voice is steadier than it has any right to be, and for a brief moment Dorin feels a pang of humiliation, of being so far gone when Alexius is still capable of full sentences, at the very least. “We have already established that blood magic augments a mage’s power by allowing them to bypass accessing the Fade,” he sums up, as if this is just another one of their lessons. “But any blood can do that.”

With that, Alexius pulls away from Dorian completely. He picks up the bowl as he stands, and then moves to stand in front of where Dorian is kneeling. From this angle, Dorian can see the smears of blood around Alexius’ mouth, and the desire for another kiss has Dorian straining against his restraints.  

“ _ Fasta vass _ ,” Dorian curses, tugging at the restraints. He could get them off if he truly wanted to, one quick fire spell is all it would take. But instead he chooses to struggle.

“Language,” Alexius snaps, but his bloody lips curl up in a smirk. “Is that any way to talk in front of your patron?”

Dorian shifts on his knees. He can’t shake the pain there, but he rolls his shoulders and tries to focus on the bright bloom of pain that causes instead. “You normally don’t seem to mind,” Dorian retorts, managings to muster an amount of sass that impresses even himself, give the circumstances.

Alexius looks down, contemplates the  blood in the bowl he holds, and then looks back at Dorian. He’s a sight, cheeks flushed in the candlelight as if trying to match the blood on his mouth, blood smears down the front of his tunic and on his hands, pupils so dilated his eyes just look black. He’s a handsome man, Dorian knows, but he’s gorgeous when he’s like this, and when Dorian knows that  _ he’s  _ the one who caused it.

“Blood magic does not have to be done with the blood of a mage,” Alexius says slowly, as if Dorian really is taking notes and not bound and kneeling on the floor in front of him. “But when you have the blood of a mage, and you’re in close proximity to that mage, the possibilities are endless.”

“Mind control,” Dorian answers quickly. “And it allows them to enter your dreams.”

“Correct,” Alexius says with a nod, and Dorian’s body sings from the praise. “But controlling the mind of a mage, of an Altus, is a challenging task, even with the aid of blood magic. It’s much easier then, say, to control their bodies.”  With that, Alexius held the bowl out with one hand, and drew his fingers over the top of it with his other.

Dorian strained to see what he was doing, to get any practical information, and was about to ask a question when he felt his jaw seize shut. Dorian struggled to open his mouth, made panicked noises behind his teeth. Alexius simply laughed.  

“As I have just now demonstrated, Dorian, controlling the body of a mage is much easier than controlling their mind.” When Dorian doesn’t, can’t respond, Alexius just laughs again. “I do think this is the longest time I’ve ever heard you quiet. Whatever shall I do with the opportunity?”

It’s a struggle to breath. Dorian doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough air, can’t open his mouth to gasp in any more. It makes the stinging on his back feel like too much, the pain in his knees unbearable, and all he can do is whine through his nose and hope that Alexius interprets it as something, anything.

But Alexius is focused on the bowl, not Dorian. He circles his fingers above it once more, then again, until the blood levitates around his right hand and glows a low, crimson red. Alexius drops the wooden bowl, does not even look at where it lands, and instead takes a step closer to Dorian. “I have the entirety of your physical being in my hand,” Alexius announces, twirling the blood mist around his fingers as if it were a fine silk scarf.

This is not rope, nor chains, nor anything else Dorian could escape. He had been learning blood magic so that he could  _ avoid  _ situations like this, where another mage might take advantage of him. And now here he was, nearly-naked and bleeding on the floor for his efforts, cock hard and jaw aching from unspoken pleas for  _ more  _ and  _ mercy _ .

“This is a technique, as I am sure you can imagine, normally reserved for torture.” As Alexius speaks, he moves his right hand up in front of Dorian’s chest, and Dorian can  _ feel  _ it, like a hundred small fingers moving up his bare skin. He nearly falls forward from it all, but the feeling like a hand on the front of his chest stops him, pushes him back, all following Alexius’ guiding, glowing hand.

Dorian is expecting more after that, but instead Alexius just purses his lips. “These really are fascinating results,” he muses. “It’s a shame we don’t have a servant here to document the findings.” His eyes narrow in on Dorian, and with a flourish of his hand Dorian feels nails drag up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his back, aggravating the wounds already there. “Would you like that?” Alexius asks, despite the fact that Dorian still cannot open his mouth. “Someone else here to record your  _ sufferings _ .”

More hand movements, and Dorian feels the invisible pressure move down his back, around his sides and onto his thighs, a constant warm pressure that is nowhere near where he needs it.

“I would have to kill them after,” Alexius goes on to say, as if he’s still just musing about theoretical magic. “This,” he says, gesturing to Dorian with his left hand, “is all mine, and I will not share it.”

Dorian sobs a scream against his closed mouth as the touch of Alexius’ magic finally moves against his aching cock. He ruts forward on it, can’t see it but he can  _ feel  _ it, and even though it’s nowhere near enough it’s something, and it’s good enough that Dorian closes his eyes with it. Alexius praises him, tells him that he’s  _ very good  _ as the pressure on his cock increases, gains movement, feels almost like a human hand stroking him past his smalls.

In the silence of the laboratory, all Dorian can hear is the sound of his own breathing and the blood thrumming in his ears. There are too many senses to focus on, too much input and not enough time to tabulate it all, and it only becomes worse when Alexius demands, “Look at me,” and forces Dorian’s eyes open so that he could not blink even if he wanted to. “I want to see the look on your face when you come like this, bound and gagged on magic from your own blood. You are going to come like this and then I am going to fuck you there, in your own blood, because you are  _ mine _ .”

That does Dorian in, the declaration of ownership and the pressure of the magic on his cock. Dorian keens his head back, eyes still open, as he comes, scream silenced by his closed lips and arms still bound behind his back. He can feel it all pooling under his smalls, leaking out the front of his thighs, and feels dizzy from it all.

But he barely has a moment to recover before Alexius is behind him, on him, pushing him down to the cloth-covered stone floor. The spell of the blood magic breaks as soon as Dorian feels Alexius’ bloody right hand around his neck, feels the blood drip down the front of his chest and seeping into the drop cloth. The other hand works to push his smalls down past the swell of his ass as Alexius whispers in his ear, “Tell me what it is that you want, Dorian.”

“ _ You _ ,” is the first word out of Dorian’s mouth. It’s gasped, breathless and raw, but it’s there, and Alexius nuzzles the back of Dorian’s head with his own at the sound of it, his body completely covering Dorian’s. “Please,” Dorian adds, forcing his voice to work in hopes of another show of affection as he tries to spread his legs, “Please, Alexius, I need you.”

“I know what you need,” Alexius snarls back, cutting off Dorian’s air with his hand suddenly before letting go, “but you won’t have it, not now.” He pulls away so that he’s sitting up on the back of Dorian’s naked thighs and presses a hand flat against Dorian’s eviscerated back.

Dorian strains his neck trying to look behind himself, and can almost see the way that Alexius is holding him down with his left hand and stroking himself with his right hand, how his cock pulled out between his smalls and his tunic and how his front is  _ covered  _ in Dorian’s blood. Alexius digs his nails into Dorian’s back and Dorian cries out at the pain, pain on top of pain on top of the utter bliss of submitting to Alexius, of hearing the incoherent praise spewing from Alexius’ blood-stained mouth, until finally he can feel Alexius spilling out over his bleeding back.

The come burns as it hits his cuts, mixes with the blood and drips down over his bound hands, the small of his back, and the swell of his ass, and Dorian screams from it. He keeps his eyes closed, but he can hear Alexius breathing heavily, the sound of his chest heaving as he wipes his hands on the drop cloth and tucks himself back into his smalls. Dorian’s entire being hurts, aches, stings worse than anything he has ever felt, and he’s not sure he can feel his hands anymore. He’s not sure he wants to. But before Alexius moves to stand, he grab the dagger and uses it to cut the rope around Dorian’s wrists.

“A weakened state is to be expected,” Alexius says as he stands, wiping the dagger off on his tunic as he did earlier. “Can you stand?”

_ No _ , Dorian thinks, but he makes a noise in the back of his throat that he hopes sounds like a   _ yes _ , and with great effort manages to roll over and sit up despite how his limbs shake and his back feels as though it's on fire. “I think so,” he manages to get out after a fit of coughing. “Yes.”

Alexius makes a noise of approval. “Good. Wake one of the servants to have them draw you a bath in your own quarters, then,” he orders, and Dorian’s expression remains neutral only because he’s too exhausted to move it into anything else. “I expect you up by breakfast. We’ve got a lecture to attend tomorrow, as well as a relic viewing at Magister Tullius’ estate. I expect you to be well-rested for both.”

And with that, Alexius left Dorian alone in the laboratory, sitting on the cloth-covered floor. Eventually Dorian does rise, and does wake a servant for a bath, and makes it very clear to the wide-eyed elf that this is something to  _ not  _ be discussed if the servant wished to stay alive. It’s only once he’s clean and tucked under layers of linen and silk that the sensation of crushing loneliness overtakes him as he drifts off to sleep.


End file.
